


Liminal

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Babies, Childbirth, Empath Castiel, F/M, Fluff, Hospitals, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An empath and domestic abuser in a delivery waiting room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminal

**Author's Note:**

> Written in a delivery waiting room while my niece was being born.

There are places, liminal spaces, where nothing settles: gas stations, tourist traps- rest stops are the most powerful- but hospitals are enigmatic, even by those standards. There are hundreds of people, visiting and leaving, dying, surviving, constantly in flux; other people spend years in this building. It’s a wealth of energy (psychic, emotional, whatever you believe) ranging from hope of a clean test result, joy in discharge, bereavement for a loved one, even the apathy of the security guard that’s worked this same floor for twenty years. 

Maternity wards are more... acute. Only two feelings inhabit a delivery waiting room: elation, and devastation. The man seated silently across from Castiel is the latter.

He sits hunched, elbows on his knees and hands dangling forlorn between; his fingers are steepled, but he can’t decide what to do with his thumbs. Castiel wonders who he’s here for. A fianceé, or girlfriend- not wife, unless they’re separated to some degree; enough to separate his wedding ring from his finger. That would explain his apprehension, but the way his head is bowed says boredom, not impending fatherhood. Perhaps a relative in particularly tough labour, a sibling he maybe hasn’t spoken to in years. Hell, maybe it’s his significant other’s, but not his. The possibilities are extensive. His nervousness is contaminating Cas’s delight.

He looks up, with dark hair, dark eyes, decades of determination etched in every feature. His twiddling thumbs point up, forming a diamond. “Do you have the remote?”

An accent- United Kingdom, years ago- Cas notes as he glances to the end tables guarding either side of the loveseat he’s taken refuge on, and shakes his head at the void.

“Damn.”

Castiel winces; the man’s under enough stress as it is, and the news story on Syrian refugees is best saved for another day. He stands, and feels the edges of the flat screen for manual controls. “Where do you want it?”

“Off.”

Cas awards himself a private smile as he bumps the top button, power flicking out in response. He takes his seat, and drinks in the sounds of rolling wheelchairs, security badges tapped on scanners, and orthopedic sneaker squeaks. He attunes himself to the delight just up the hall- and he wants to share it with this man- but he’ll have to soothe the negativity first.

He opens the room for conversation with a quiet, “Are you alright?”

“Me?” He seems surprised, thumbs settling into a downwards point. “Yeah, fine.” The statement is short, closing, and Castiel isn’t one to push- “Why do you ask?”

Now, that’s an invitation. “You seem distressed.”

“Do I?” he replies, looking exceptionally tired. Lord only knows how long he’s haunted this waiting room. “Been here fourteen hours.”

Castiel’s only waited here three, but he arrived well into the process; being a satellite guest, he can afford to. “Is your...” he tries to recall a word for a person of nondescript relation, and fills in the blank he draws, “associate, alright?”

The man cracks the smallest, briefest of smiles at the cognitive stretch. “Ex-girlfriend. We don’t know.”

Cas nods understandingly. Both of those seem poor topics if the goal is to lighten his mood. 

“It’s not mine,” he feels it necessary to specify, “broke up a year ago. Whatever lout knocked her up is too drunk to answer his phone, and so she calls me.” He pulls a face like he’d rather be the drunken one, and Cas can hear  _ “Typical,” _ tacked on several times before. He makes a sympathetic noise, a gentle encouragement to continue. “Her father, who detests me for obvious reasons, is in with her now.”

It’s a lot to share with a stranger, so Cas divulges slightly as a show of trust. “I’m accompanying my brother. His fianceé’s guests are inside for moral support, while we’re the proverbial black sheep of our family, and the only ones present.”

A nod. “She okay?”

A shrug. “I assume so. I have yet to be updated since her water broke.”

“She’s busy clawing his eyes out.”

Castiel appreciates the joke- not just for his own amusement, but that of the man who made it. “I consider that preferable to what he is currently witnessing.”

“Bloody miracle.”

He knows that’s a common interjective adjective in England, but the man seems to have chosen it purposefully for the accurate imagery- if his smile is any indication. Castiel chuckles, and the atmosphere in the delivery waiting room lifts.

“Crowley.”

And crashes instantaneously back down. The man in the doorway has a coffee in his hand, and animosity in his eyes- which, fortunately, are not directed at Castiel, but, unfortunately, at his conversational partner. His name, he’d wager, spoken by the father.

The positive conversation alone may have done more for Crowley’s attitude than Cas had hoped, because he seems less exhausted than previously, despite the introduction of a new stressor. “Oh, are we doing this now? Well, I suppose a hospital is a good place for a row-”

“Shut it. Lilith wants you.”

“What on earth for?”

“Beats me. I’m getting breakfast.” the man snaps, and storms off. It’s a subdued malevolence, cold anger instead of crackling hot: the kind that would go unnoticed to a passerby, but he seems to have it out for the whole of Creation. They both remain focused on the doorway, now empty, and Castiel wonders if the other man can feel the way the man’s negativity has polluted the space.

Crowley shifts his steepled fingers ever-so-slightly, slotting together; his thumbs chase each other before folding away. “Good luck with your soon-to-be-sister-in-law.”

“The same, to whatever this Lilith is to you.”

“I prefer the term  _ “ _ pain in the arse. _ ” _ ”

It’s a good feeling to leave. Castiel can sense the sardonic humour well after the man’s gone, and finds it a pleasant median, bridging their energies. He soaks in it.

“Yo, little bro!”

Though, more humour is never a bad thing. His heart jumps at seeing his brother, as it means his brother isn’t in the delivery room- posing the possibility of what  _ is _ . “Is she-”

“Nah, not yet.” Gabe responds as he joins his sibling on the sofa. “They kicked me out.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

He cuffs Castiel. His hand hesitates, then ruffles his hair. “You washed your hair this morning, yeah?”

“Correct.”

“Lucky dog. I haven’t even pissed yet today.”

“Perhaps you should. How will you care for an infant with a urinary tract infection?”

Gabriel, a swirling well of fatigue, anxiety, and infinite joy, scrunches his face. “Agh, you’re right. If I’m not back in ten minutes, wake me up.” He stretches his shoulders as he stands. “Either that, or I’m gettin’ a coke.”

“And a candy bar.”

“I’m a sucker for sugar!” His smile is bright, lights up the room as he winks farewell. He’s down the hall Cas knows to be labelled as a Quiet Zone, out of sight by the time he adds, “Not long now!” A nurse shushes him.

Even in Gabe’s absence, his excited energy bounces between the walls, and to Castiel, it sounds like laughter. Much like Gabriel, it can’t be contained for long, running down the halls to cheer the whole maternity ward. He closes his eyes, and pictures newborns giggling.

What he hears is one crying.

He finds his eyes watery from drowsiness when he opens them, and his aren’t the only ones. Crowley stands in the waiting room, minutes-newborn cradled in his arms. Castiel grins.

“Lilith wanted her out of the room. I think she’s already asleep.”

He listens, but the infant consumes his attention. Crowley inclines his head to the unoccupied half of the loveseat. “May I join you?”

He can’t agree fast enough. The infant’s swaddled, whining displeasure at the bright, blustering world.

“Ruby Kristen Cassidy. Born 5:46 in the evening, January eighth, 2016. Six pounds, six ounces. Healthy, as far as we know.”

“She’s beautiful.” he professes. Even crying, she is.

“That’s what they all say.”

She opens her eyes- and he’d forgotten that was something human infants can do right away- and looks directly at Castiel. He shushes gently, trying project as much calm and safety as he can wring out of his bleeding heart. Ruby stops crying, abruptly, like she’s forgotten why she started, and Crowley chuckles, low in his chest. The rumble of it confuses her, adorably.

“How do you feel?” \

He stares at the tiny, writhing thing with the kind of amazement reserved for religious experiences. “Unexpectedly parental.”

“Instinct.” Cas supplies.

He cobbles together his composure. “...Like I’m going to throttle her grandfather if he comes near me.”

“It’s natural to defend against perceived threats to the infant.” He wonders if he’ll feel the same holding his nephew.

“Yeah... though I usually want to throttle that bastard.”

Ruby fusses, and Castiel hushes while he adjusts the blanket away from her face. He suddenly fears he’s overstepped his boundaries, but there’s nothing territorial about the way Crowley looks at him. “If I were keeping her, I might have to keep you, too.”

He’s flattered, but there’s an undercurrent emotion in there. A sort of resigned dread. He’s not the father. He has no claim to this child, but Cas can tell, he wishes he did. He lets the pity leak onto his face, but Crowley’s turned his attention to the babe.

“Unfortunately for you, that’s not the case.” He shifts her from a cradle against his chest to perpendicular to it, moving his now free-hand under her rear to keep her from squirming away. “You, Ruby, darling...” Crowley begins, her head in the palm of his hand, “are going to be a ward of the state.”

Despite himself, Castiel feels frantic. He has no relation to them; he has no place in her life, however it should turn out.

Neither does Crowley.

“That’s right, love, because your mother, is a deranged whore.”

He wants to cover her ears, but she won’t remember this conversation. She won’t remember either of them.

“It’s alright, though. They’ll raise you better than either of us could. You don’t want to know how ours ended up.”

Castiel, however, really, really wants to know. Absent children aren’t something you can casually question.

Ruby coos, hand peeking from beneath the wrapping and contorting into shapes she’s never made before. Crowley’s focused past her, into the past. Tentatively, Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to transfer some of his calm into the man. He ends up absorbing an overwhelming sense of loss.

“Well,” Crowley starts, like he only now has room for the thought as Cas skims his excess grief, “don’t do drugs, stay in school, and take your birth control pills, so you never put anyone in the position you’re in now.” He kisses Ruby on the forehead, and the infant, startled by the gesture, snivels. Castiel’s first reaction is to hum something soft. She’s quiet again before Crowley poses a request. “Would you hold her? I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“Can I?” he asks, not quite sure.

“She’s better off with you than her mother.” It’s hard to argue when he’s so light-hearted about it. “Besides,” the man says as he transfers the infant to Castiel’s arms, “she’ll start crying again the moment I take her from you.”

He watches Crowley exit the waiting room before he blocks out his peripheral vision. Ruby’s small, and warm, pink and new. Her name’s written on a tiny hospital bracelet around her wrist, and there’s another on her ankle, like anti-theft devices in department stores. In a way, that’s what it is. He thinks of the importance of skin-to-skin contact between mothers and infants to ensure normal bonding. He hears Crowley on the phone.

“Ruby Kristen Cassidy. Clifton General Hospital... No, no. Her mother, Lilith Cassidy.” His shoes click on the laminate floor as he paces the front hall. “The residence is obviously unfit. History of drug abuse, mental illness...” Cas glances- catches the roll of his eyes as he pauses in front of the doorway. “No, not at current- not yet.” His shoes click off, leaving Castiel’s audible distance. Ruby feels his trepidation, wails, but a lyrical- if not gravelly- rendition of  _ Frère Jacques _ puts her to sleep.

Lilith’s father has a unique gait: relaxed, but unnecessarily heavy. Cas folds Ruby into his chest, but the man barely glances his way, as long as it takes him to recognize Castiel is not the person he’s looking for. Cas identifies the speed at which Crowley walks and the click of his shoes, even before he speaks. Though he’s in the same conversation, his tone has changed. Less personal, like he’s conducting a business call. “There was a TPR filed- never went through, but I still have the paperwork.” Leisurely, he passes the waiting room.

The father comes up behind him, taps him on the shoulder for his attention. Castiel coddles Ruby against his heart, and keeps his breathing steady, hoping it will keep the beat low for her. When the father speaks, it’s quiet, controlled, with a pressing hostility. “Where is she?”

To the Child Services caseworker on the phone, Crowley says, “I’ll fax that over as soon as I get back to the office.” Then, angling the speaker away from his mouth, he asks, “Lilith? I think they’re moving her to the overnight suite.”

“My granddaughter, Crowley.”

“Oh,  _ that! _ ” He angles the receiver to his mouth. “I’ll be in touch.” Crowley hangs up, then sweeps his eyes about the waiting room as he enters it, skipping Castiel completely. He scratches the back of his neck. “Wherever did I  _ put _ that?”

“ _ Crowley. _ ” The father snaps, grabbing him by the lapel.

He looks down at it, only vaguely cross. “Cool your hand, Luke.”

Castiel flinches when he puts a hand around his throat, and Crowley throws his hands up, cell phone pinched between his thumb and palm. “I recall the nurses talking about measurements. I believe they do that at the end of the hall?” The way it’s worded isn’t quite a lie.

Reluctantly, he releases, and stomps through the Quiet Zone. After straightening his tie and returning his phone, he takes the babe from Castiel, resting her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t wake. “That was uncalled for, but I did warn you Luke’s a prat.”

Aching to ask about things he won’t disclose, Cas presents, “His name is actually Luke?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to make that joke.” He smiles at Ruby, drooling on the shoulder of his suit jacket. “Thanks for watching her, by the way.”

“Least I can do, when you entrust an infant not to her grandfather, but a total stranger.”

“Oh, I think we’ve got a camaraderie, at least.”

Accidentally, Castiel emphasizes, “At least.”

“Dude, you  _ gotta _ see this!”

Castiel jumps to his feet at the chipper voice. “Is it my nephew?”

“No, the gift shop has Chewy Runts!” Gabe punctuates by shaking a box.

Being up, Cas is just now finding how stiff his legs are. He stays upright, and crosses his arms to express his displeasure. “Isn’t Kali in a lot of pain?”

He waves it off, “Oh, nah, man,” and opens the box, “they stuck this needle in her back-”

“Epidural?” Castiel supplies.

“Yeah, that!” he agrees, shaking out a few of the candies into his palm. “Anyway, I licked her foot? Didn’t even notice!”

Cas sighs as Gabe pops the Runts like their hypochondriac aunt downs acetaminophen. He can feel Crowley’s shoulders shaking as he holds back a chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be in there? Cut the cord, or what have you?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel lisps around a mouthful of discontinued candy, “that’s why I’m out here.”

Castiel tries to drum up solidarity in Crowley with a,  _ Can you believe this? _ look, but all he gets is a laugh. He rolls his eyes back to his brother, and points towards the delivery rooms. “Go.”

“Fine, jeez...” Seeing their third wheel, Gabriel addends, “Don’t let him fool you,  _ I’m _ older.”

“Quite sure of that?” Crowley sides, and Gabe winks at Castiel on his way out. It’s a specific wink- the kind he’s used since high school as a mark of approval for Cas’s crushes. Admittedly, he finds Crowley less than repulsive. 

“I ought to return this before daddy dearest catches up.” He angles his body just enough to make good eye contact, with Ruby in the way. “Nice meeting you, darling.”

“My name is Castiel.” He opens his body language, and tries to project friendliness. “With that knowledge, I am no longer a stranger.”

His face speaks surprise- a positive reaction to it. “Crowley. I’d shake your hand, if mine weren’t occupied.”

“I appreciate the intention.”

They watch each other for a moment, stalling. 

“Toodles.” he closes, turns for the door, and- “Bollocks.”

They pushed the limit, and it broke- Luke marching down the hall with a black cloud of rage behind him. Cas doesn’t even have to picture it: it’s just there. A nurse passing behind him chokes on it.

Crowley shifts the infant to a horizontal cradle, one-handed- presumably to have one free in case Luke swings at him. Castiel steps to the sidelines, and lights down in a chair. He buries his apprehension under a decided apathy that will, with any luck, go unnoticed in the corner.

“Hand her over.” His aura hits Cas like a slap in the face- about as hard as Crowley’s contracted muscles scream the want to slap Luke.

“Who are you again?”

The joke is not received well. That endless anger leaks out from underneath his control. “ _ Give me my granddaughter. _ ”

He’s not yelled- you can get the same reaction by simply speaking very deliberately, if you’re confident enough. There’s the reason no one’s alerted security: no one knows there’s a confrontation going on- save Castiel, who adopts his emotions from everyone else in a room. He is an outlier.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, with your history? Maybe if you sit, we’ll put down some pillows-”

Coldly, he replies, “At least mine survived.”

Crowley snakes his free hand around, under Ruby, and Castiel thinks it’s a combination of guarding and anger suppression. He looks flabbergasted he’d even bring it up, but his energy is Biblical wrath. His heat meets Luke’s cold front, and a storm boils around his words. “How many times have we been over this? Sometimes it just  _ happens. _ No one knows why- and there is  _ nothing _ I, or anyone, could have done.”

“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.” Cas murmurs, to himself, to give the words life. It seems mythological to him; he can’t comprehend it, like numbers too large, or theoretical physics. He imagines that’s how parents feel: unless you’ve seen it.

Luke hears him, gaze freezing him to the spot. His body says  _ kill _ , but his eyes scream  _ love _ . He cocks his head, and between his voice and the lingering fear, Cas shivers. “Who are you?”

He wants to curl in, to ball up and defend, but a larger part of him insists he claim respect. He rises, every muscle in his body fighting to keep his shoulders slumped and head down, but his will is stronger than this vessel. “An outlier.”

Luke holds the high ground, but Cas, six feet and still beneath him, holds his own. Sparks dart between the two of them, unable to decide which magnetic field is stronger, whether they’re positive or negative. He holds Luke’s eyes, icy, and in his peripherals, Crowley stares on. He has to feel it: the power between them, swirling a vicious hurricane in the delivery waiting room.

Luke doesn’t surrender- you do not surrender to something you can crush betwixt your teeth- but he concedes. He breaks eye contact, convinced he’s still the most powerful force in the room. He would be, against either of them alone. He looks to Crowley, and lays his hand flat, palms up in a pseudo-submission. “My granddaughter. Please”

Crowley shifts his hold, considering. “I wasn’t kidding about those measurements.”

“I’ll take her. You have my word.” Oddly enough, despite the cruelty at his core, Cas thinks he’d take Luke’s word over a court order.

He passes her off, carefully, cringing at the physical contact. Luke looks down on his granddaughter, smiling. “Hey, Ruby.  _ Hi _ .”

They thaw the further Luke strides down the hall. Empathetic as he is, Cas glances to Crowley first, and finds him smiling. He can’t understand why.

Until the alarms go off. 

The two of them split smiles, and Castiel thinks they make a pretty good team.

“Guess what!?”

“The Runts are expired?” Cas shoots back before he can read the energy. Gabe’s way too excited for candy.

“No! Well,  _ yeah _ . You’re an uncle, smartass!”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t give a goodbye- doesn’t have time before he’s sprinting to the delivery room. A new life has just been brought into the world, and he’s going to fill that room with all the love he’s drawn in over his entire life.

“Congratulations!” Crowley calls, and if Cas were paying attention, he could draw love from that single word.

Gabe shoves his younger brother playfully, slipping in front and reducing them to a brisk walk. “Kali’s family just went out for dinner, so we’ve got the kiddo to ourselves.”

“Perfect.”

“Says you. I’m starving!”

“How many boxes of Twinkies were in your overnight bag?”

“I could only fit two!” he laments, throwing open the delivery room door. “I ate those when we got here!”

“How are you not prediabetic?”

“Good genes.” Gabriel gloats as he pulls away the curtain. “Lot like my little bundle of joy here!”

The room is beautiful, quiet, and cozy: designed to induce rest, but frenzy sticks to the furniture. Kali looks up, drained, obscured infant in her arms. When Gabe peels back the sheet, Castiel disconnects from everything but that child. 

Including his sister-in-law’s breast.  _ Particularly _ that.

“Look how much hair he’s got!” Gabe points out, ruffling it. “I’m putting that in a mohawk as soon as we get home.”

“You are not.” Kali decrees. With a heavy sigh, he turns to his brother, and mutters, “I am  _ too _ .”

“Send me pictures.” he responds dissociatively.

“Oh, my Instagram’s gonna be nothing but this kid until he’s thirty. Or has a baby brother. Whichever.”

“The next is a girl.” the mother decides.

“We’re trying until we get a girl, so there’s fifty-fifty for another boy.”

“We just had a boy. The next will be a girl.” She has emotions so repressed (or murdered), even Cas can’t touch them.

“Hon, how do you think I ended up with six brothers?”

“May I hold him?” Cas interjects. He can’t contain it any longer.

“Oh, ‘course!” Gabriel answers, then talks it over with his significant other in expression alone. Gabe inquires, Kali disapproves, he begs, she gives. He takes the infant with one hand under the head and one the rear- he’s never held a baby before in his life- and passes him to his sibling. His nephew cries the moment he’s taken from his mother. 

Cas cradles him close, close to his steady heart. “What’s his name?”

“Well  _ I  _ wanted to call him Pussy Destroyer, but Kali wouldn’t let me.” His light tone is accusatory. “Decided to keep the mythology thing goin’, and since The Avengers was so good, we’re calling him Loki.”

He can live with that. “Good history.” he replies. Loki wails, Kali’s not entertained, and the nurses do their best to be patient. He reunites the child with his mother, backing off.

“I still like Pussy Destroyer.” Gabe complains.

Because they’re siblings, and Gabriel is Gabriel, Cas demurs, “One of your ex-girlfriends referred to you as that, correct?”

His permanent smile falters, and Castiel can hear his fianceé seethe. “Okay, thanks for coming, bye now!” He physically rushes him from the room, small but insistent. “See you later, maybe never!”

At the door, he jests, “Have I offended you?”

“I’m running away to become a Mexican porn star.”

“You have a child.”

Gabe is just now realizing this. “...Huh. Dammit.”

Cordially, he wishes, “Godspeed.”

Gabriel, resigned, confides, “I’m gonna need it,” and shuts the door.

Perhaps he’s stolen it from his brother, but Cas finds himself smiling all the way to the elevators. He floats through the exuberant lobby, into the open-air parking garage. Too consumed with his nephew, he doesn’t intake the intent of every impatient car horn blare. 

Is this what it’s like for other people?

It can’t be; it’s temporary. The aura he detects is one he wouldn’t expect- it should be swallowed in the freneticism- but he feels it across the floor. 

Desolation.

He finds Crowley hung over the concrete railing between a 2000 Durango and classic Bentley, and takes a wild guess at which is his. His fingers are steepled, with a lit cigarette between the middle and fore on his right hand. There’s a fair length of ash he hasn’t seemed to notice. Castiel withstands the smoke, for the company.

They stand in silence. 

“Our son-”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Crowley ignores him. If he stops talking now, he may never say it again. “Gavin. Named him Gavin. Lilith stopped taking her birth control- like I said, deranged.”

He gets part way into a loopy gesture before losing interest. He notices the ash, as he brings his hand back down, and flicks, letting it fall on an ambulance waiting four floors down. “ I’d always assumed she’d want an abortion- I wanted her to. I think she thought it would make me stay with her.” He raises the cigarette to his lips, breathes, back down. “She was right.”

Castiel doesn’t risk to speak. He’s not finished.

“You have no idea how many times I threatened to leave. She’s a bitch off her meds. Did my part though, started a bloody college fund... I smoked a pack a day back then, she quit for the pregnancy. Drank, though. Both of us. She disappeared one night, came home drunk. Carrying my child, and she’s drunk!”

Afraid of the answer, he coaxes, “What did you do?”

He eyes Cas. Takes a drag. Lets it out. “I’m a bastard when I drink.”

He nods, in a way you can only tell at this distance. Cas tries to hide it, but he’s a creature of emotion, and disappointment pours into his face. Crowley’s, too.

He takes a drag for courage. “He was born three pounds, in the hospital the first few months. Fit right in my hands.” He demonstrates, cupping the two next to each other, cigarette dangling from one. The gesture wilts, as he sees it slip through his fingers. Smoke pours up, and he brings the cigarette close. Breathes it in. “Hated her, hated the kid more. Said I’d drop him off the balcony.” He looks to Castiel, clarifies, “Hadn’t slept in three days.”

He’d hate him, if he couldn’t sense the regret. Crowley’s a private person, with walls and misdirection surrounding- so why is he telling Cas?

“Someone called CPS. We never hurt Gavin- fought like democrats and the tea party, but we did everything right by the rugrat. I was so insulted, I threatened the social worker.”

Reading out loud, “On purpose?”

He takes a contemplative drag, gazes out on the street lamps. “Probably.”

An ambulance pulls around. They watch the stretcher be guided inside. “...They were in the process of taking him when he died. First time he didn’t keep us up crying. One night, just... gone.” There’s no ash, but he flicks the cigarette anyway. “...Never thought I’d miss him.”

Castiel chokes back  _ I know how you feel _ because he can’t. He’s never been a father; he’s never felt loss that wasn’t intentional on one side or another. Oh, but he knows. He feels things he shouldn’t, sympathizes where he can’t. He reacts to what no one sees. It’s  _ there _ . He wonders if it’s just that he’s the only one paying attention.

For whatever reason, it’s his gift, and he intends to use it. Cas takes the cigarette, and grinds it out on the concrete rail. Crowley looks at him, understandably offput, but thankful. His whole life, he’s wanted someone to care enough to stop him. If Castiel has any emotion in excess, it’s sympathy.

“What’d you do that for?” he asks, surprised more than anything.

“You wanted me to.”

Crowley finds no lie in his eyes, and that scares him. “Really?” he snaps, smiling as he steps forward. Anger- a security against ridicule and the unknown. Cas leans casually against the railing as the other man puffs up, lets him feel like he’s taller. He’s not scared. Crowley is.

The intimidation attempt doesn’t last long; there’s nothing to be gained. Niggling, but curious, he dares, “What else do I want?”

He doesn’t usually do this because he doesn’t like making people uncomfortable. Crowley, though, lives for it. Cas glances him over: full frontal, squared shoulders, in what most people would define as “personal space”- he has one hand on the rail, grounding, and the other rested diagonal on his thigh (men are rarely subtle). The pupil dilation is a dead giveaway. 

Because he’s spent too much time with Gabriel today, “Buy me dinner first.”

He still can’t predict how people will react to feelings they didn’t know they had- especially towards genders they may not have realized their attraction to. Crowley rolls his eyes, snorts as he turns to his car, withdrawing the keys from his pocket. Castiel retreats, cautiously; best not to stick around straight men with anger issues.

“Are you coming?” Crowley surprises him, motioning to the vehicle. Perturbed, Cas scans him. All he gleans is sincerity. 

“Coming where?”

“To dinner.”


End file.
